


Snowflake

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Really fluffy, like fluffier than snow looks, that's really fluffy, yeah so this is basically just a silly little drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider and your boyfriend is an adorable idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflake

It’s December, and you’re visiting John Egbert, best friend and boyfriend and full-time idiot, in cold and frosty Washington for winter break. You wake up early on your second morning there – the twentieth – and wonder what feels different. You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling and trying to work it out. Eventually, you give up and sit up, sighing. You put on your shades and think about getting out of bed, when John bursts into your room.

“Snow!” he shouts, yanking the blind up and nearly breaking it, “Look! Snow!”

You look out of the window and, sure enough, the ground outside has been hidden under a thick layer of snow.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, nodding coolly, “Snow. That white wet cold stuff that falls from the sky.”

“Have you ever seen snow before?” he asks, looking ridiculously naïve.

“Of course I’ve seen snow,” you laugh, privately adding: _if only in pictures_.

“Well, I don’t know what the weather’s like in Texas,” he says, sounding defensive, and you notice he’s already dressed, in a ridiculously adorable Christmas jumper. You try to pretend you didn’t just think the word ‘adorable’.

“Hot,” you reply, “And sunny. None of this snow rubbish.”

“Hey, snow’s great,” he says, turning to leave, “Come on, get dressed!”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going out in the snow!” he turns around in the doorway, grinning like a maniac, “Put on something warm!”

He leaves before you can object, and you sigh.

 

Ten minutes later, you go downstairs, wearing the warmest clothes you own. You borrow a coat from John, not having brought one of your own despite it being winter in Washington. John drags you outside, still acting like an over-excited child.

“Doesn’t it snow, like, every year up here?” you ask, “Aren’t you used to it by now?”

“No! I love snow! It’s the best!”

“I don’t see what’s so great about it,” you say, peering suspiciously at the snow, “It’s just cold and wet and white.”

John doesn’t reply, and you turn around to look for him, only to get a face full of snow.

“Hey! Cold!” you splutter, wiping it off, glad you have your shades to protect your eyes.

“That’s just one of the many wonderful properties of snow,” John says, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“You’re not making me like it any more.”

You gather up a handful of snow and hurl it at him, but it disintegrates before it reaches him, and he laughs. His next snowball hits you in the shoulder.

“Oh, it is _on_ ,” you say, grabbing for more snow.

 

Ten minutes later, you are cold, wet and exhausted, and have been thoroughly beaten in the first – and, you hope, only – snowball fight of your life. You flop into a pile of snow, and admit defeat. John lies down next to you, his face flushed and happy, and proceeds to flail his limbs around in a ridiculous manner.

“What are you doing?” you ask, sitting up and staring at him.

“Making a snow angel,” he replies, carefully getting up and admiring his work.

Sure enough, the imprint he left looks vaguely like an angel. You laugh, and flop back down next to it, making an angel of your own.

“This is ridiculous,” you say, as you get up and stare at the two angels.

“Fun, though,” he replies, grinning, and you can’t help but return it.

“What now?” you ask.

“Let’s build a snowman!”

You agree enthusiastically, underestimating exactly how much work it takes to build a snowman. As it turns out, it’s a lot.

 

Half an hour later, you’ve managed to build a life-size if not particularly realistic snowman, and you’ve worked up enough of a sweat to have to undo your coat.

“Okay, that’s pretty good,” you say, admiring the lopsided pile of three large balls of snow, and wondering where exactly the ‘man’ part came into this, “So, how do we do the face?” You try to remember what you know about snowmen. “Coal?”

“Why would I have coal?” John asks, laughing, “We don’t even have a fire.”

“Well, okay, then, what do you have?”

He scrunches up his face, thinking.

“Let’s check the fridge!” he says, and you follow him inside.

 

The fridge supplies you with a carrot, classic nose of snowmen everywhere; some broccoli, for less conventional eyes; and a stick of celery, which you guess you can bend into a mouth. John finds two relatively arm-like branches, and your snowman is completed with an old scarf. You both stand back to admire your handiwork, and agree that it’s the most bitching snowman ever made.

“Wait,” you say, “He’s missing something.”

“What?”

Silently, you remove your shades, and solemnly place them over the snowman’s broccoli eyes.

“ _Now_ he’s the raddest snowman in existence,” you say.

John laughs, and hits you in the face with another handful of snow.

“Hey,” you say, wiping the snow out of your eyes, “I thought the snow fight was over.”

“Nope,” he says, jumping on you, pushing you over, and shoving a handful of snow down your top.

You scream, the sound embarrassingly high-pitched, and roll around trying to get the snow out of your clothes, managing to get more snow inside them in the process.

“Hey, hey, hey, hold still,” he says, pinning you down and holding you still, then carefully scraping the snow out of your clothes, “It’s just snow.”

“It’s _really_ cold,” you say, pouting.

He laughs, and you think he’s probably the most adorable human being in existence. You’re just thinking how much you’d like him to kiss you, when, almost as if he could read your mind, he does. You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, a plan beginning to form.

“Hey,” you say, pulling away after a moment.

“What?”

“Got you back!” you shout, shoving a handful of snow down the back of his neck.

“Gah! I hate you!”

You laugh as he thrashes around, trying to get the snow out before it melts. A solitary snowflake drifts down from the sky, and you think this is probably the most fun you’ve ever had in your life.


End file.
